Arrival…Aug. 14, 2007

I’m sitting in my small apartment munching on authentic Chinese ramen noodles (tarng-mian) recovering from a long two days of flying, sitting, walking, driving and beginning the process of acclimating myself to my new surroundings. After a 13-hour flight from Newark to Beijing, the words “exhausted,” “pooped,” and “delirious” come to mind. I’m grateful for the easy customs process that saw us out of the airport within minutes of picking up our baggage. Conveniently, an ATM was located just near the baggage claim and without hesitation I picked up 800 RMB and headed out to meet our liaison. Just beyond customs lays the waiting area for relatives, business associates and others meeting persons arriving from all over the world. The vast crowd of hopeful faces, many holding signs, awed me: “Mr. Stack, Citi Bank,” “Dubai Investment Associates,” “Mr. Li.” A photographer snapped a photograph of our dazed gazes as we surveyed the crowd. Finally, a small woman in an attractive red day dress appeared within the crowd holding a sheet of white paper which read: “Hebei University Welcomes Kate Lin Lorenz [sic], Nathaniel Hussey, Sarah Ansell-Towle, Christopher Gauthier, Alexandra Woolner.” We found her, but could not reach her, so we headed to the end of the line to make our introductions.

Ivy greeted us and said she had to call our driver so we could begin our journey to Baoding. The five of us were weighed down with 100 lbs. of baggage to carry with us challenged with pushing carts around a very crowded airport. People were running into each other, pushing, shoving and maneuvering to reach the exits in a display that was nothing short of chaos. When we reached the elevator, our driver, Mr. Li (there are many Mr. Li’s in China), who bears a striking resemblance to the famous Chinese ex-patriot-turned NBA start Yao Ming, forced his way to the front of the line beckoning us to follow. I soon learned that lines are non-existent in China, the only way to get anywhere is through shear force; there is no Mandarin word for “patience” (if there is, I don’t know it). We finally squeezed all of our luggage and bodies into the official University mini-van and we were packed like sardines, one on top of the other. After a brief stop for fuel and water ($0.34 per bottle), we hit the freeway for our two and a half hour voyage to Baoding.

I must have dozed off a few times because I don’t remember the entire ride. Breaks in consciousness usually involved my head dropping forward until it suddenly jerked awake. I didn’t feel very well. It seems the long flight and the jet lag was catching up to me. I soon realized my headache arrived when we started on the highway. The first effects of air pollution in one of the most polluted places in the world appeared suddenly; it’s something I would surely have to get used to. Eventually Mr. Li turned on the radio to high volume. I don’t know if it was in an effort to keep us alert, but listening to talk radio in Mandarin is like listening to a bizarre lullaby. It’ll put you in an uneasy state between being asleep and awake. I couldn’t figure out what the man on the radio was talking about, and in my delirium I could have sworn some of what he said was in English. I’m sure it wasn’t, but for a minute there I thought I could understand the language.

The highway has many tolls, and in order to drive from Beijing to Baoding, one must pass between 3 and 6 tolls (I may have missed a couple when I was passed out). Mr. Li handled them with the knowledge and ease of an American trucker, weaving in an out of traffic always landing in the shortest line. At many of the tolls, guards were stationed huddled around a small laptop that sat atop a folding table completely exposed to the elements. The final tollgate was located at the end of the off-ramp to our exit. After paying the final 2-Yuan, we were thrust into a large street. It resembled a four-lane boulevard, but lanes were merely a suggestion, as Mr. Li weaved in and out of oncoming traffic, honking at every car, bike, motorbike and pedestrian in his way. Funny thing is that I didn’t feel nervous at all sitting in the front seat next to him, it felt completely natural. Truly an indication that I needed sleep.

Finally we arrived at our final destination, our home for the next 9 months, the foreign housing at Hebei University.

Ivy led us to choose our rooms, and being the gentlemen that I am, I took the smallest room on the top floor at the end of the hallway. I didn’t want anyone else to have all the fun of climbing six flights of stairs in stifling heat with 100+ lbs. of luggage, no, that was my privilege (although Alex has the room right next door, but it’s bigger!).

After finding the buttons, levers, flush devices and locks all in good working red-China order, my friends and I headed down to the mess hall for some grub. When we arrived, we seemed a bit late, but they decided to serve us nonetheless. Our waitress, Gee-yon, presented us with a photo menu (sans descriptions) to decide from. After much deliberation, I went with something that looked like noodles. Natty went for the octopus and the girls each decided on some sort of corn thing. Gee-yon was a little confused about the girls’ ordering two plates of the same thing. It seems that most meals are meant to be shared by everyone at the table. We were not fully aware of this custom (which marks only the beginning of many), and they ordered it anyway. As we anxiously awaited our first authentic Chinese meal, our stomachs growled and eyes fluttered. Being tired and hungry at the same time is never fun, being tired and hungry in a foreign land is torture. Soon our meals arrived and we were caught by surprise! The white powdery stuff sprinkled atop the corn-based meals was sugar, the red and green bits-candy, and the fluffy fried tan-colored mixture was fried dough—the girls ordered dessert! My noodle dish didn’t contain noodles, but shredded potatoes, and spicy at that! Natty was the only one who got what he expected. Nonetheless, we were hungry and anything to fill the void was perfect by that point.

After the meal (and a few beers with dinner), we headed back to our one-bedroom apartments for the night, expecting to sleep for years. Somehow, we were all awake by 5:30…. what’s there to do at 5:30 in the morning in a place you’ve never been to?

Answer: write a blog.